


One Last Breath

by Vagabond



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Fluff, M/M, Spoilers, person of interest 05x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 07:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7213684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The doors closed behind Harold and John refused to move. He couldn't leave him behind (even though Harold had left them). Shaw insisted they leave, but John asked the Machine for one last favor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: Relax, or relief. Because life is always so very intense for our guys.
> 
> This one is for you, lovely anon. Sorry it probably isn't 100% what you were expecting.

Harold disappeared. John watched him go through the doors back into the belly of the beast. He tried the door one more time, a violent tug that led to nothing, and shouted. Shaw pulled at him. 

“Come on,” she insisted, “we have to go.”

Every fiber of his being refused to move. He stared down the corridor and waited for Harold to reemerge. 

“Reese,” Shaw hissed and tugged him roughly. It drew him out of his momentary distress and he looked around. “Lets go,” she insisted once more and this time he followed. They made their way out of the building and into the waiting car, everything blurring together as John’s heart thumped hard against his chest and he found it difficult to breathe. 

The car drove them somewhere; for once he did not pay attention. He trusted Harold and Shaw enough to know that between the Machine’s plan to get them out, and Shaw’s vigilance during the ride, they would be alright. His mind remained on Harold. Harold, still in the building to face Samaritan. Harold, with his limp and his distaste for fighting. Harold, and his stupid need to sacrifice himself. 

John was supposed to protect him, but instead the roles had been reversed. His skin crawled with the thought and thankfully the car came to an abrupt stop and jogged him out of it. He glanced at Shaw who pinned him with a thoughtful gaze.

“This is our stop,” Shaw pointed out and John pushed the door open and stepped out. The driver brought them to a neighborhood on what appeared to be the Upper East Side. He looked back at the car as Shaw slid out of it, envelope in hand. 

“The driver had it,” she explained as she shut the door and the car drove off. “It has two keys, two addresses, same block. I guess we split up.” Shaw handed him a key and an address, and took the other for herself. 

“Keep close, Shaw,” John instructed and she nodded at him before she turned and made her way down the street, presumably to her temporary home. 

John realized he probably looked suspicious dressed in military fatigues, but the building did not have a doorman so he avoided any initial strange glances. Ascending the stairs, he located the apartment and stepped inside. Bare walls greeted him, furniture present but covered with sheets to protect it from dust. He took his time going through it, running the perimeter, checking to make sure no one waited for him. 

At the end he stood in the living room and stared out the window at the City. The apartment had a single bedroom with a plain bed, a single bathroom stocked with the bare minimum, and a small kitchen. It would do for a day, though he imagined he would spend more time searching for Harold than resting. 

“You can hear me, can’t you?” He asked the air, talking to the Machine. “I hope you can.” He hoped Harold hadn’t destroyed it. “I want to find him, to see him again. Bring him to me, please.” 

Silence followed, and John deflated. Exhaustion from the whirlwind of the past few days settled over him. He needed rest, at least a couple of hours. John made his way into the bedroom and found clothes to change into, a white undershirt and a pair of sweatpants. One of his suits made it into the closet in the room, too, which he brushed his fingers over thoughtfully before he changed into the comfortable clothes provided. 

One more check to ensure all doors and windows were locked, and John finally laid down on the bed. Exhaustion hit him hard and he fell asleep immediately, the darkness swallowing him. 

Two things woke him up. The first being the sound of the front door to his apartment opening and closing. The second had been the nightmare dancing beneath his eyelids as he watched Harold die in front of him. Instinct took over and he grabbed his firearm, rolled off the bed and onto his feet, and took a defensive stance by the door to the bedroom which stood slightly ajar. 

When he saw Harold he forgot to breathe. 

His body jumped ahead of his brain and he disarmed the gun, set it on the dresser, and proceeded into the living area. Harold appeared startled when John approached him and regarded him with a look mixed with fear and concern. 

“John-” he started but did not get to finish as John grabbed him and pulled him into his space. He did not embrace him, but held him by his upper arms and stared. His eyes roamed over every inch of him as he looked for any sign of injury. Only when he was satisfied by Harold’s state of well being did he pull him tightly against him and buried his face against his neck. 

Harold’s hand rested against the back of John’s neck and squeezed. John’s entire being relaxed. The panic from before melted away into relief. 

“Where is Ms. Shaw?” Harold inquired. 

“Another place. The Machine split us up,” John replied, voice muffled against Harold’s skin. 

Harold moved his hand from John’s neck to the back of his head and stroked his hair. He then turned his face enough to rest his cheek atop John’s head and they remained that way for a few minutes. John focused on taking steady breaths, in and out, as Harold held him. His free arm rested around John’s waist. 

“I’m afraid we’ve entered into our end game, John,” Harold began, “I was honestly surprised to find you here. I did not expect the Machine to lead me to you.”

“Does it still work?” John asked. 

Harold hesitated, “no. She is gone, I’m afraid. As is Samaritan, at least for now. I’m not quite finished with my work. Come, I’m tired and so are you. We should sit.” 

John allowed Harold to pull away and he stood tall once again and stayed put while Harold limped over to one of the couches and removed the sheet. He dropped it unceremoniously onto the ground, a very non-Harold thing to do. His posture indicated to John that he had not been joking about being tired. 

Before he sat, Harold motioned for John to go to him. John complied and stood near the couch while Harold took a seat and, after arranging some pillows, settled. Instead of taking a spot on the couch, John slid down onto his knees on the floor and heard Harold’s sharp intake of breath in response. He sidled up to the couch and rested his head against Harold’s thigh, face tilted so John’s cheek was nestled against the fabric of Harold’s pants. 

Harold rested a hand on his head and his thumb traced John’s hairline thoughtfully. John finally looked up at him and the look in Harold’s eyes warmed him. 

“Oh, John,” Harold murmured and frowned as his thumb continued to brush a gentle path along the side of John’s face. “I am sorry it has come to this. Truly.”

John closed his eyes and focused on Harold’s touch. He memorized the sensation, worried it would be his last chance to do so. 

“You don’t have to do this alone,” John pointed out. 

“I’m afraid I do,” Harold replied as he traced the shell of John’s ear, “I understand why that may be difficult for you but this, all of this, has been my doing. If nothing else I can end it and let you live, let Sameen live. I couldn’t save Root but I can save both of you.” 

“You’ve already saved me,” John said and opened his eyes again to gaze up and take in Harold’s mournful look. 

Harold smiled, a brief upward curve of his lips, eyes still sad, before he answered, “I know. I wish you would let me save you again.”

John quieted and allowed the words to hang in the air and settle around him. He stared at the lapel of Harold’s suit, lost in thought, lulled by Harold’s soft touches. His knees ached where they curled beneath him, and his entire body had begun to respond to the abuse it had endured earlier in the day, but he refused to move. If he had his way he would stay on the floor with his head in Harold’s lap forever, the world be damned. 

“John,” Harold murmured and the single syllable drew John’s attention back to his face. “We’ll stay in this moment for a while. We’ll rest,” he insisted and smiled again.

“It won’t last,” John replied. 

“Nothing does,” Harold pointed out, “but we can at least enjoy this while we have it.” 

John couldn’t argue.

**Author's Note:**

> It may take me a bit, but I'm always open to prompts over on [TUMBLR](https://waffleironbiddingwar.tumblr.com/ask). All pairings welcome, as well as single character requests.


End file.
